Communication Issues
by TeaAndUmbrellas
Summary: Gakuen Hetalia fic. Arthur is the awkward guy at school who strives for perfection. Alfred is the class clown. After an incident in class they are forced to live together, and Alfred starts meddling in Arthur's life, which will either be a blessing or a curse. Particularly when Alfred finds his diary and reads in secret. Some serious topics. USUK. Human names. T to be sure.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own the countries of the world (I am not going to make a British Empire reference here), Hetalia, or the jokes featuring in this thing._

_I've also only been to Ireland once quite a few years ago now and if you are Irish or have strong opinion about my wrongful stereotyping, please let me know in a civil fashion what I have done wrong alright? It'd be much appreciated, Cheers :)_

_(and if you happen to be French and I write French in this fic, you are allowed to tell me it sounds completely off and weirdly formal)_

_Also, Spoiler alert, at some point I give away the general ending of Shakespeare's Hamlet, and some Romeo and Juliet spoilers details. So, you know, if you still don't know it after being around for hundreds of years, and you don't want to spoil it now, just skip that part yeah?_

_I am sorry if Alfred is out of character or speaks funny. I have discovered that writing with American expressions doesn't come easy to me although I watch a lot of telly. In my defence it's sort of from Arthur's perspective, so you know, his brain might have filtered out the Americanness? I dunno. Just. Sorry, all right?_

_Here we go:_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Arthur Kirkland has never been in a relationship with anyone. He has hardly even reflected properly on his sexuality, although he think he might be gay even though he had a crush on this girl back when he was 13. Bisexual maybe?

Gender never mattered anyway, the person did.

And Arthur is exactly 99.9% certain he will never meet such a person. If he had been anyone else he would have suggested 110% certain, but that would defeat the purpose of using "per cent", or per hundred if you like, so he refrains from it.

He had never really been picked on, with practise from 3 older brothers and the neighbour-kid he certainly didn't have a problem asserting his authority at school. People saw him as smart, bookish, and quiet, but would not dare to bully him.

Some would tell you he was stiff - "stick up his arse" as that wonderful French wanker Francis Bonnefoy would phrase it - but also that he was fair, hard working and incredibly shy.

Arthur wouldn't back away from a fight, and usually won, but would also try every means of diplomatic resolution first. Although he may have finally lost his last strand of patience with Francis.

However, he wasn't particularly tall or strong, just clever about it. Well, he had been strong for his age when he was younger, but then people caught up. Now he mostly depended on his words, which he was better at anyways.

Arthur was good at a few sports - football (soccer, not the American football atrocity), cricket, rugby, golf, tennis - but although he was good at them he prefered reading, writing and watching plays.

He would never admit it, but if a play or book was good enough he would cry, but his pride and general awkwardness would never let you know, so if you busted him you should probably be scared for your life, or memory. Or both.

The International School he went to was a very special one, priding itself of representing as many nationalities as possible, no class had two people from the same place. The location even changed every ten years or so, in order to not discriminate. It had started out in Austria many many years ago, right now it was located in Dublin, but had been in Dubai 5 years earlier. There were always rumours where they would move next.

Arthur rather liked Ireland, it was close to England, and quite similar. There were some slight differences, smaller population, the accent, the humour was slightly different, euros instead of pounds, and no "Queen and country" business, but the biggest for Arthur was probably how people would actually talk to you randomly.

He had experienced people picking up random conversations at bus stops, shop queues, and pubs, drunk or not, the Irish would chat with you. Being in a pub during England versus Ireland in football or rugby could be intense, but at the same time England vs. France in an Irish pub had the whole pub cheering with Arthur. Same as with Wales or Scotland back home really. Once a tour guide at made a refference to "those English bastards" when the school had taken them to a castle, and some of his classmates had singled him out. The guide was really nice though, it was all in the past he said.

All in all being in Dublin was brilliant, as he had been a bit worried of ending up in Chile or somewhere else ridiculously warm and far away. Arthur did not function in hot climates, to be perfectly honest. He was plain, blonde, had green eyes, and could predict accurately when to bring an umbrella with him or not. It was evident he was not built for anything other than cold and rain.

But back to the topic at hand: Arthur would be forever alone because there was nobody out there for him. Not even a sodding leprechaun, or bloody flying mint bunny!

On top of that he had problems making friends. He had people he liked more in class, who he would speak to about assignments and the subject material, particularly Kiku from Japan. They seemed to be on the same page a lot.

Then there was Francis, who loved poking fun at his "Britishness". He would try to touch Arthur as much as possible, deliberately sit behind him and poke his head or stroke his arm. Francis would even give Arthur hugs if he wasn't quick enough to get away. Anything to annoy and violate personal space. Bloody twat!

The Brit rather liked the German, but he was always surrounded by the boy from Italy, Feliciano, who Arthur really couldn't stand after a few minutes. Also, Ludwig could be so intimidating at times with his stoic German organisational skills.

Arthur was organised, Ludwig was a whole new level. Although Ludwig had not wanted to be the student council president, so the task fell to Arthur.

Sometimes he would talk to Roderich, from Austria, about music, which Ludwig also knew a great deal about. But once the German entered the conversation, Italian opera from Feliciano would soon follow.

Arthur had decided to completely stay away from the east block European countries. Frankly, Ivan scared the living daylight out of him, and he didn't dare approach Ivan's friends from that fact alone. Although some of them seemed jolly nice.

The Englishman wasn't scared of fights, but nor did he want to provoke them. He had fallen out with an Indian boy in his street when he was really small, and once he was beat up by an American boy at school. Not to mention Ivan was really tall and had proven in PE to be freakishly strong. And he had this creepy smile...

Lukas, the boy from Norway, was nice. And they would sometimes chat for a while about common interests. Their countries had surprisingly much in common, with being marine nations with strong folklore and a suspiciousness of the rest of Europe.

Arthur could actually see them becoming friends, but the Danish boy was taking on the role as Lukas' own Francis, and he often hung out with the other Nordics, the Scandinavians spoke similar languages which easily alienated Arthur from the clique.

Apparently Icelandic kids learnt Danish at school, and the Finnish learnt Swedish so all five of them could hang out without a problem. If only Finland didn't speak Swedish, Arthur would've had a much easier job joining the click. But he didn't want to force them to speak English constantly, as they probably liked speaking in their native tongues in breaks. And there was just no sodding way Arthur would be able to pick up Swedish or Norwegian anytime soon.

The Brit didn't really fit in with any of the few girls in class, and the boy from Greece slept all the time, didn't show up, or smelt like cat. Arthur couldn't even remember his name properly, let alone pronounce it. And Sadiq from Turkey was someone Arthur would just not be friends with. Detention was as far away from his cup of tea you could get.

Then there were the other native English speakers. The Australian was much too wild for him, all adventurous and brave. Matthew was really nice, but easy to overlook, and Arthur didn't even know if they had anything in common. He knew little about Canada in general, they were part of the Commonwealth and had been part of the British empire, but that was about it. Lots of wild nature? Maple syrup? Something like that. Also, some of them spoke French.

Alfred was from the US, and frankly he could be so ignorant about things. He was also stupidly strong, sometimes all muscles no brains. Geography and history were certainly his weaker points.

Arthur had a particular dislike of the American as he had caught him trying to cheat over his shoulder the first week, and that Alfred liked to make jokes about "the funny accent, and stupid words". Gosh! Rubber, trousers, and pavement are all perfectly normal words. Arthur had asked to borrow Alfred's rubber once and would never heard the end of it since. Nor would he start saying "eraser" either. It was his language and the American had no right ruining it. There is a reason it is called English.

Where Arthur was the serious student president, Alfred was the class clown and American football player.

Right now the Brit was finding his way to class early as usual. He read his book, A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens, as the rest of the class appeared one by one making the room noisier. Some said good morning to him, others simply ignored him.

The morning was relaxed, a history lesson covering the European, particularly British and French colonial management. Francis was poking the Englishman at every other point the teacher made, which nearly made Arthur shout out, but he did have some self-control.

In the next lesson, maths, the teacher had told them to work on their own for half an hour, saying she would be back then to take any questions if they had any issues. And what happened? As soon as she left the room Alfred ran up to the front, drew out his phone and started reading jokes he had found while not paying attention in class:

"I've gathered some nation-lightbulb jokes. The first one's totally a bit long, but so very Canada!" America laughed and started reading:

"Q: How many Canadians does it take to change a lightbulb ?

A: Twelve. Four to form a Parliamentary study committee to decide how to solve the problem, one Francophone to complain that I didn't translate this joke into French, one Native Canadian to protest that the interests of Native Canadians have been overlooked, one woman from the National Action Committee On the Status Of Women to say that women have been underrepresented in the process, one to go over the border to the Niagara Falls Factory Outlet Mall and buy a new bulb and not pay duty on it on the way back, one to actually screw it in, one to collect taxes on the whole procedure so the government can afford it, one to buy a case of Molson for everybody to drink, and one to drop the puck."

Matthew gave a nervous laugh along with everyone else, but turned a slight shade of red. Arthur doubted anyone else noticed.

"Alfred, will you please sit down?" Arthur asked, but was ignored.

"Q: How many Frenchmen does it take to change a lightbulb ?

A: Three. #1 goes away and gets a new light bulb. #2 notices that it has been imported from Britain and so have to throw it away, #1 then has to go and get another one, and then #3 changes it."

Francis blew a kiss at Arthur and laughed loudly along with the class.

The Frenchman then moved forward to ruffle the Brit's hair, Arthur moved away from the hand while trying to speak up, "Alfred, I'm sorry, but could you just..", but was interrupted again.

"Q: How many Germans does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: Ve are asking ze qvestions here!"

Alfred put on a strong fake German accent as he read that and people laughed, Arthur noticed the German only shrugged.

"Stop, or I will confiscate the phone. Will you please...?"

"Q: How many Italians does it take to change a lightbulb ?

A: Two. One to change it and one to sprinkle it with Parmesan."

Feliciano laughed and agreed loudly that he, indeed, had 'parmigiano' on his breakfast.

"Alfred Jones, would you please listen to.."

"Q: How many Russians does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: That's a military secret.!"

Ivan smiled his creepy smile.

The Brit was giving up on speaking and getting to his feet, crossing the few steps over to the American.

"Q: How many Englishmen does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: What do you mean change it? It's a perfectly good bloody bulb! We have had it for a thousand years and it has worked just *fine*."

Alfred said with a really bad British accent, and everyone laughed, Arthur only rolled his eyes.

Arthur tried to snatch the mobile out of Alfred's hand, but the American was a head taller than him and the Englishman was not willing to give away too much of his pride. "Please sit down now and work, or I will have to report you, Alfred," he said calmly.

"Oh, England you are no fun!" Alfred pouted, and kept the phone out of reach. The American had this weird thing of calling Arthur 'England', as if he was a sort of personification of his country. He might fit into some stereotypes, but certainly not all.

"I might not be 'fun' Alfred, but we are in class. Now would everyone please work quietly?" he turned to the class. Some actually found their books, the Scandinavians and Matthew were quick to comply. The Swede had been working all the time anyway.

However, Francis looked like he was expecting a fight or a sort of showdown. His blue eyes seemed to be asking the devil to humiliate Arthur, he would probably sell his soul for it.

"Right, Alfred I am taking you to the headmaster's office, come with me," Arthur sighed and started walking towards the door, but a strong hand gripped his wrist and kept him from reaching the door.

"Come on Artie, it is only a bit of fun. Don't take everything personal. Your joke wasn't even that offensive and math is boring stuff! Dude, let the class have some fun, and don't blame me for you being a spoilsport," the American was finally becoming serious. But not in a good way.

"Alfred, will you kindly let go of my arm and let me do my duty as the person in charge of the class?" Arthur asked with a strong tint of venom to his politeness that is an art that can only be perfected through living many years in Britain.

The Englishman tried to reclaim his hand by force when the American seemed to refuse to humour him. "Bloody hell, just let go will you!?" he was nearly shouting now. Alfred only seemed amused, as he was obviously stronger and sure the Brit wouldn't dare get violent.

However, something in Arthur suddenly snapped like a twig. Years of fighting older brothers, having Scot grab his arm and taunt him just like the American was doing right now, got the better of him.

Arthur instinctively punched Alfred right in the face, and the confused American stumbled over and dragged the English with him. As they stumbled to the floor the classroom door opened and the teacher from the nextdoor classroom entered. "What the devil is...?" he yelled, as he entered before taking in the drama.

Alfred was bleeding from his nose, and Arthur was lying on the floor clutching his wrist which had landed really awkwardly as the American hadn't let go even when they fell.

"You two, come with me, now!" he yelled, in a strong, angry Irish accent. The two boys followed, and the classroom went silent as the grave staring after them.

* * *

_Right. What do you think? Hetalia can be difficult with the stereotyping and all, so I hope nobody got offended by anything. _

_ The next chapter should be up pretty soon. I just need to tweak it a bit :) _


	2. Chapter 2

_Cheers for reading guys! :) I hope you enjoy the next chapter! Where more of the actual plot is introduced, but not quite._

* * *

**Chapter 2**

The nurse had looked them both over, nothing was broken, but they got some painkillers and the offer of tea which only Arthur accepted. The were now waiting alone in a hallway to talk to the headmaster.

"This is all your fault. You should have just let go. You should have behaved like a mature, reasoned person and everything would have been fine!" Arthur said angrily, holding onto his mug of tea like a lifeline.

His whole life was ruined. Everything was over. He would have a criminal record for punching someone, so he would probably never be allowed to travel to Canada! Let alone get a good job. He would be expelled and everything!

"It'll be fine! Don't worry, England. It'll be OK, and then we will laugh later," the American tried to reassure him.

"It will not be fine, ever! You ruined everything, and it is nothing to laugh about!" Arthur cried out in anger.

Alfred was horrified, Arthur had never acted like this before. He knew the Brit was a bit short-tempered, but this was flat out panicking. "It was just a joke..." he muttered.

"And I, my previously spotless record, and my throbbing wrist are so amused, Alfred. Please don't talk to me, all right? cheers," Arthur bit out and tried very hard not to cry. He would never be Prime Minister, never achieve a high position in the UN, or represent Britain in NATO meetings making decisions about nuclear proliferation and war. What was the point now!?

"You can come in now," a mild voice said as the door to the office was opened.

They walked in and sat down on two chairs in front of this big desk.

"Oh Goodness, the state of you two. I already know who started it, but I also have to comment that hitting people is not ok in any circumstance..." the headmaster muttered to himself.

Arthur tried really hard not to think of Albus Dumbledore from the Harry Potter series, but couldn't help it. He had, of course, no purple robe, nor half moon glasses or long, silver beard. He wasn't even all that old. But there was something in his aura, or persona that made Arthur think: Dumbledore.

"You will not be expelled, it will not go on your record, and I will not even give you detention. I will inform your parents however," the middle-aged man looked at them in turn. "I think what we are seeing here is more of a personal problem between the two of you, rather than an issue of you being bad students".

Arthur nearly rolled his eyes. He might not be a bad student but Alfred certainly was. He never took anything seriously.

The man suddenly looked amused. "I think you two would benefit from sharing rooms for a while, just the two of you. That will be all, my lovely secretary Peter will show you your new dwellings for the year. Cheerio!"

And just like that they left the office without having said a word.

Arthur really didn't know whether to laugh or cry. On the one hand his record was still spotless, and he could achieve his goal of becoming PM. However, he had to share room with the American.

Up until now they had all been living in rooms with en-suite bathrooms, sharing a kitchen, five each. Arthur had shared with Kiku, Antonio from Spain, Natalia from Belarus, and Vash from Switzerland. It had been an alright flat, although the mixture of people was a bit interesting.

Would Alfred and he share a kitchen then? Living away from the others.

The school secretary, Peter, rose to his feet and muttered a "this way". They walked through the courtyard, past the regular dorms, until they reached the very end of the huge, old building. It was a corner tower, which they had been told was only used for storage these days.

It turned out, however, that it was actually a first floor (Alfred annoyingly called it the second floor. Americans were very weird Arthur reckoned) flat with a kitchen and living area, a nice bathroom, but only one bedroom. Peter hurriedly explained that one of the teachers had lived here before she got married and moved out into town. He added something about how the school needed to pay her bus fees, and how she should have moved in somewhere within walking distance.

Alfred and Arthur wasn't listening however. "There is only one bed, and we can't really fix that, but the sofa makes a nice sofa bed," Peter told them, as he handed them a key each.

After some more: "well will get your things, just get settled", he left, leaving the Brit and the American all alone.

"Damnit," Arthur muttered to himself. The flat was nice, bigger than what he had before, but he had been completely fine by himself. He couldn't handle other people for an extended amount of time, particularly bullies.

"Right, I take the bedroom, you take the sofa, seeing as this is all your fault," he said, turning towards the taller blond.

"I wanna point out that you hit me. But yeah, I agree. I suppose we'll swap from time to time, to be fair and all," Alfred said while walking around the living area. "Nice place," he commented.

Arthur stood awkwardly by the door. He had never been alone with Alfred before and didn't know how to behave. Come to think of it, he never knew how to behave around people. Other humans could be so difficult!

"Yes, I suppose it is rather nice..." he said meekly, trying really hard not to fold his arms defensively. 'Calm down Arthur. Human beings don't bite. They are like in books. Just small-talk and answer questions politely until he finds a film to watch or something,' he thought to himself as he walked into the kitchen looking for the kettle.

As the water boiled their stuff arrived on the door. Several boxes of clothing, a huge movie collection that Alfred had brought (along with a DVD player that could play his non-European discs), and Arthur's small mountain of books.

"Dude, you've got tons of books. How do you even read them all?" Alfred asked as he picked up a couple of the covers. "I'm sorry, but could you please leave my stuff alone? I enjoy reading, but indeed, I haven't read all of them yet. I like buying new titles as well," Arthur said, now with a new mug of tea in his hand.

"You drink a lot of that, don't you England?" Alfred commented and took a seat on the kitchen bench, dangling his legs. Arthur prefered a chair. "Well, I am stressed, and we Brits make tea whenever something is wrong. It's comforting, and it gives you something to do," Arthur said.

"When you make someone tea you feel like you are doing something for them, and trying to show that you care. Any reasonable person's response to something upsetting would be to comfort someone with tea," he continued and the thought to himself: 'It also provides an excellent opportunity to not having to comfort with words or intimacy'.

"Yeah, I've seen that in like British cop shows. I prefer coffee," the American said, and made himself some coffee with mostly milk and probably more sugar than actual coffee. "Weird day huh?" he commented. Arthur just nodded.

The school bell chimed and they both jumped in surprise.

"Oh bloody hell!" Arthur called out, and ran back to the door grabbing his jacket. "I have a council meeting, I will be back later," he called and rushed out.

Alfred finished his coffee, walked around the flat for a bit, then made himself ready for football practise - the American style! He had also just become captain of the baseball team, well frankly he had made the baseball team. And a lot of the people were a bit useless, although at least Matthew knew the rules. Kiku turned out to be pretty good, apparently the Japanese loved the game too.

Alfred liked playing sports. He had a tendency to gain weight, but no self restraint when it came to sodas and fast food. Sports sort of compensated for the doughnuts and endless slices of pizza. It was also fun, of course. And he had become quite strong the past year with the sports and the growing and all.

He went out, wondering to himself if living with the Englishman would be a curse or a blessing. Honestly, he expected a bit of both, and a lot of nagging.

* * *

The two boys were out until quite late, and got back exhausted. The American put on an annoying playlist, which the Brit complained loudly about for about half an hour, until they reached a compromise in the type of music to listen to while they put their stuff in drawers and the bookshelf. Half of which was films, half of which was books.

"Right then. I think I will call it an early night," Arthur said at about 11pm. He had missed classes, and not worked on his homework at all, and on the top of everything he was utterly exhausted.

"Okay! See you tomorrow, grumpy face!" Alfred mocked the Brit, who just muttered unintelligibly in return and closed the door to the room behind him. Arthur changed into his favourite pyjamas, brushed his teeth, and once his head hit the pillow he fell asleep like a rock.

* * *

_I keep trying to smoothly introduce smooth American translations of stuff xD Like, just in case some of you thought I meant the Ground Floor, I didn't! Mohhahahaa. _

_Sorry the Chapters are a bit short, but the next one should be up pretty soon! _

_Bye x_


	3. Chapter 3

_Warning. Chapter will contain a lot of Francis in the middle, and some French. I can't be bothered to translate some of it. The context should make it clear, or God forbid you might have to look it up and learn some French! XD_

_Also, despite the beginning, this is not a funny chapter. It's the start of my proper hurt/comfort topic, and it is certainly introducing the hurt. So yeah, I'm sorry about making it all serious at the end there. _

_I'm pretty worried about posting this actually, so pls be nice!_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Arthur woke up before his alarm the next morning. At first he didn't know where he was, then he remembered that he had moved flats. The next thing he had to wreck his 7am brain about was why there was an arm lying across his chest.

The Brit's heart sank dramatically. Thoughts like 'Did I drink anything last night!? I am still under-age, I hardly even drink at all. What the hell is...?' filled his head. He hoped he wouldn't hyperventilate.

He turned his head slowly to see another blond sleeping peacefully next to himself. Anger over-powered awkwardness and he reached out for the book placed on his bedside table, and used it to hit the other guy in the head.

The American woke with a startled "AUCH! What the hell dude!?", rubbing his head with his hand.

"That is what I should be asking, you twat! What the hell are you doing in my bed!?" The Brit shouted horrified and seriously pissed off. The two emotions battling in his face, along with a slow blush of embarrassment.

"Dude, calm down! I was trying to make the sofa bed thingy work, but then I couldn't understand it, so I tried sleeping on the sofa, but it was too short. Then I tried to wake you and get help, but you were sleeping really heavily and all, so in the end I decided to just sleep here. No biggie," Alfred said. As if it wasn't the end of the bloody world!

"You should have stayed on the sofa! Or slept on the bleedin' floor. Or asked one of the porters for help. You could have tried harder at waking me up. Your solution was absolutely unacceptable! Don't ever do such a thing again!" Arthur snapped, and got to his feet.

He was in dire need of caffeine, and he needed to get away from the American and calm down.

"Dude, I'm sorry OK? Geez. It's no big deal and all," Alfred said walking after the angry Brit into the kitchen.

"Alfred, it is a big deal to other people. Can't you understand that people are different, and cultures are different. And where I am from we don't sodding violate personal space, or touch other people's things, or sleep in the beds of strangers - unless we are very drunk, alright?" Arthur said, stirring his coffee furiously.

Alfred stared at him, then nodded. "Yeah, I get it. You're a bit like the Japanese aren't you? I suppose I sort of assume people that speak English are like us," he explained.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but couldn't bother keeping up the discussion. He knew for a fact there were many decent Americans that would never do such a horrible thing! Alfred was just peculiar.

The Brit dipped some breakfast biscuits into his coffee and chewed on them, while the American started making an elaborate breakfast of sweet things.

After debating eating properly or not Arthur toasted some bread, found some strawberry jam and sat down with a book and a cuppa. This day had not started very well!

* * *

It was another rainy day on the British isles. Alfred was complaining about the "friggin weather" when they went out. Arthur just shrugged, he had always found rain cosy. And it made everything even greener, and he liked the smell.

They walked to class in silence after that, Alfred occasionally eyeing Arthur curiously. The English tried to ignore it, thinking about what they had for their first lesson. He knew they had geography later, and music, but the first lesson was "Oh bloody hell! We have French!" he cursed out loud. Breaking his inner vow not to talk to the American for the day.

Alfred laughed, "not your best subject then?" he asked.

"It is not that my French is half bad, it's more the fact that Francis is there to mock my pronunciation," he sighed.

"I hardly remember how to say hello in French. I was always better at Spanish," Alfred offered in return, "I think you sound really French when you speak in class, but I'm no expert of course."

They reached the classroom, the American being half soaked from just the short walk because he had never heard of umbrellas it seemed. They sat down just as the bell rang. With Alfred tagging along Arthur was much less early than normal.

"Bonjour tout le monde!" the teacher called as he entered the door. He was French himself, and was of course very fond of Francis. Matthew was also in his right element for this, although the two Frenchmen mocked his funny accent and choice of words.

The teacher spoke in French for a while before repeating most of it in English. He always did that, hoping everyone would just pick it up instinctively. Arthur gave himself a mental kick. Some people probably benefited from it, he should probably stop being so grumpy about this subject but the teacher always...

"I was thinking we work in pairs today. Matthew, why don't you help Alfred out? And Francis, could you work with Arthur? Les Anglophones always seem to have a harder time picking up French, n'est-ce pas?"

Francis just grinned his most evil grin as Arthur turned around to face him.

"I never understand why I have to work with you. It is a waste of both our times. You should be reading French literature and analyse poems. I should be working with someone at my own level. It is ridiculous," Arthur muttered angrily.

"Ah, mon cher Anglais! It is so amusing for me to hear you parle francais! Also, I have to have every other class in your stupid langue. You should be grateful, mon petit," the Frenchman said.

"D'accord class. You are reading a text together. Choose who is A and B. Ask if you have problems with the pronunciation or questions about what a word means, oui?" the teacher instructed.

"Après vous, Rosbif," Francis said mock-formally with a small bow, gesturing towards the text.

"Don't call me rosbif, frog," Arthur muttered grumpily, but turned to the text, slowly stuttering through. Far too aware that the Frenchman was sitting opposite him, waiting for him to fall into a pit of despair.

"Tu as un accent très mignon, mon petit lapin," Francis said. Arthur's accent might not be all that good, but it was certainly not 'cute', and he was starting to get annoyed at the fact that he was picking up French from Francis patronising him!

"Don't call me 'little rabbit' Francis, it is utterly disturbing. I know my French isn't perfect, and I don't need you telling me that. It is not like your English is without an accent, but I don't pick on you every day," Arthur snapped.

The Frenchman's expression suddenly changed. "D'accord. Let us work properly then, mon ami. Did you understand ze texte?" he asked Arthur.

This was unexpected. Arthur looked back at the book. "Well. It is about the 'jour J', which is the D-Day of 1944, right? And the nazi occupation of France..." Arthur trailed off.

"Oui, c'est vrai," Francis said, and they just sort of trailed off in their common history as friends. It was easy to say that their two countries had always been enemies and rivals, but when one of them (mostly France) was in danger they were concerned for each other. One cannot compete without the other, after all.

"Do you want me to read ze next page?" Francis asked, and Arthur nodded.

As the Frenchman started to read the Brit immediately recognised it as Winston Churchill's radio speech to France during the war. Although, of course, Francis was actually pronouncing the French correctly.

"You have to admit it is more charming when Churchill did it," Arthur grinned.

Francis grinned back and started doing a parody of the English accent as he kept reading.

"Twat," the Brit laughed and gently punched the other in the shoulder.

"You 'ave to admit my accent was spot on," Francis laughed. "It is nothing to be ashamed of, mon cher, it is adorable. Mais, l'accent Francais will always be the most sexy," he added in a husky voice.

Arthur rolled his eyes and changed the subject entirely. "Do you miss home?" he asked. "I mean, we are here several months at a time, and you have to live with a different culture and keep up a foreign language for most of it," he supplemented.

"Oui, I do miss home. And the language made me very tired in the beginning, but I got used to it. I do miss France a lot. Particularly in regards to rules of dating," Francis confessed. Arthur softly snorted, but secretly agreed. Whatever the English dating rules were, he still prefered them to this mis-match of cultures placed at a school in the Republic of Ireland.

"Je pense.. I might be picking on you because it feels like home, tu sais? Like, the French and the English are supposed to be teasing each other, and allows me to pretend that I am back home, maybe in Calais, making fun of an Anglais who just crossed La Manche," Francis confessed very sincerely. Maybe he just realised himself.

Arthur had to admit that it did feel very natural to bicker with the Frenchman. "Well, I am not far from home nor speaking a foreign language, but I know what you mean," he said and Francis lit up.

"However, that does not mean I like it! Please, don't you have the concept of personal space in France!?"

* * *

The rest of the day was more or less uneventful. After class Arthur went off to do his duties as the student council, while Alfred went back to their flat.

Alfred was bored. So very bored. So bored, in fact, that he decided to look through Arthur's things. He knew the other wouldn't be back for a few hours, so why not?

He opened drawers, noticed how neat all Arthur's clothing was looking in the cupboard, and everything. Alfred managed to make a little London- bus souvenir (he hadn't taken Arthur as the sentimental type, but everyone gets homesick now and then, right?) fall from the bedside table and find its way underneath the bed.

"Shit," Alfred muttered and lay down on the floor to retrieve it. Instead of a little, red double decker bus, he found a leather bound book. He pulled it out and opened it. The pages was written in a neat cursive handwriting. How very Arthur.

Instead of doing the decent thing - putting it back (in case you were wondering) - Alfred started reading the page he had found. Dated a couple of weeks back.

_Diary Entry, 7th January:_

_Back to school again. I cannot say I have missed it, but being with my family was not much of an improvement._

_The black hole is back in my chest. I can function – my grades are as good as they get - , but I physically feel it every day. It is not eating me up, but it is constantly there. Like an old wound, that is there, but you can live with it. Sort of like a dementor is trailing behind me ever day. _

_I keep trying to find the cause behind it. I will not be going to get professional help, but I can still try to locate it._

_So far no thoughts of self-harm or suicide, which is a very good sign._

_I am so scared of being alone, never feeling connected to anyone, but then again, I prefer to be alone. It is such a horrid paradox! Most days I am fine with having people I know, rather than friends. People I can ask to help me with subjects I struggle in, or similar, but it is not always enough._

_ Having to be around people all the time makes me so tired. And they are the only ones that can truly hurt you._

_Imagine telling Francis I am constantly sad and angry! Don't think he would react the way I would need him to. He would probably think I am kidding._

_Fictional characters hurt too, of course, but it is different. And it is never personal. When America pokes fun at me, it is personal, which is why reality will always lose to fiction._

_bloody hell.I should go work._

And thus the entry ended. America re-read it, then felt a bit bad. A black hole in England's chest? How does that even work? He had never felt that, maybe apart from maybe when his dad died, but he had been too small to really know what was going on.

Alfred had gotten used to it really, so no too much sympathy thank you. Also, his uncle had stepped in rather quickly. The dude had been living in Britain for most of his life, so his accent and customs had become a bit fucked up. Still, he had the wits enough to take Alfred to baseball games like a father should be doing.

Anyway, maybe the feelings were similar?

Was Arthur constantly walking around, doing all of the things, while hurting? He really hoped not. The American, despite of himself and respecting other people's Freedom, read on. Maybe he should tell someone? Like a teacher or something? But that would be admitting he had read the thing, which would take away any trust Arthur would ever had in him ever.

'America poking fun' had to be him. Alfred highly doubted Arthur would nickname Matthew America, North American or not. Had he been too mean? 'Poking fun' wasn't that bad was it?

He read on, deciding that he needed to know more.

_It hurts. It just fucking hurts. My chest is stabbing me from the inside and nothing can make it stop. I have made several pots of tea, I have taken walks, smelt flowers, had several "healthy" cries lying underneath my desk with a bunch of pillows, but nothing seems to be working. I am sleeping and eating as I should too._

_I never would have thought that being sad could hurt physically. It's not like it is a physical wound, you know? I bought ten new books in hope of being inspired to read, but I cannot concentrate on them._

_Sometimes I would love to say that I feel like this because I am bullied, or have any other external reason. But I don't. It is just me, and my useless feelings._

_I have no courage to share them with anyone either. Crying in front of anyone would be beyond painful and I could never live with it. And it is no way I can try to put words to this without crying. Or at least get violent._

_Even worse though! What if I tell someone and then they say: "You are not depressed, idiot", or ask me just "why? Why are you depressed? That's stupid. You are from a nice, comfortable home, in a first world country. People starve in Africa". I couldn't live with that._

_I can't explain WHY, it just is. I just feel it. It is irrational. I have applied reason to it, but I cannot reason myself out of it. Very distressing in a sense, but feelings doesn't seem to be about what your head is reasoning._

_I am 17, my first instinct should not be to get a drink. But it is. I just want to drink a bottle of wine by myself... God, I am pathetic._

Alfred hid the diary back under the bed, and left the room like he had found it. This was some serious shit he would have to deal with. But he was a hero, wasn't he? This is what Americans do!

He decided for himself to find a way to check if the Brit had any cuts on his wrists. It would not be easy, with Arthur and his, like, 20 layers of clothing, but he could try. He would start by putting all of the tea on the top shelves.

If the Englishman had to stretch to get his Elixir of Life he might get to see. Although, there was always a chance he had cut himself further up. Though, the Brit had written, to himself no less, that he was not hurting himself. Still, better safe than sorry.

Alfred opened the Brit's cupboard and discovered several big boxes (hundred or more bags in each) of tea. The American was used to a variety of fruit teas, camomile, green stuff but Arthur owned none of that. In this case, even some Earl Grey would have liven it up. But nope, it all looked like the same sort of black tea.

'Man, Arthur has some serious variety issues', the thought to himself, as he moved the tea to the top shelves (where even he had to tiptoe to reach), before turning on the oven to make himself a nice hamburger. He was feeling peckish.

The American set about making his awesome food, but couldn't get Arthur's words out of his head. He had to do something. Alfred would indeed have to step in and be the hero in this matter! Although the Brit was grumpy and annoying, maybe this explained why. If Alfred could just get the other to see he did care for Arthur, although he was a bit stuck up, maybe the Brit would feel better?

Alfred made several mental notes and future plans for himself as he sat in front of the TV chewing on his hamburger and fries. He would definitely find a way to make Arthur happy!

* * *

_Yes. Alright that was heavy. Alfred will lighten Arthur up in the end alright and it'll all be fine! I'm sorry for painful stuff. _


	4. Chapter 4

_A shorter chapter today guise. _

_This is the Shakespeare-spoling chapter xD_

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Arthur came home late, and Alfred was watching telly.

"Hey! Did you know that like, in England, they have to add extra power to the electricity thingy in commercial breaks when people watch TV because everyone gets up to make tea? Isn't that ridiculous," Alfred said as the Brit was shaking his umbrella and taking his coat and wellies off.

"Yes, of course I know. And it's not silly, it makes perfect sense that when everyone wait for the adds to finish they make tea. And It's Britain or the UK, not England," Arthur said, and moved towards the kitchen to make a cuppa. Right that moment he heard the kettle make the little 'click' sound.

"I boiled water for you," Alfred grinned. "You are really predictable, you know that?" he asked, as Arthur started finding himself a mug and looked for a box of teabags. They weren't where he'd place them earlier. His eyes moved to the top shelf. Bugger! Damn American must have moved them!

He stretched as much as he could and managed to get a box down. He'd have to move the rest by climbing up on bench when Alfred was out.

"And like, you don't need to dress so neatly when we're in the apartment and all, you could just chill," Alfred continued, drinking something that looked like milkshake. Surprised the other wasn't making a fuss of how he'd moved his precious tea.

Arthur noticed Alfred was wearing flip-flops, jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie.

"I suppose I just feel more comfortable like this," Arthur shrugged and poured the milk into his Yorkshire tea, after fishing the tea bag out.

"Nobody in the world could feel more comfortable like that dude, you're like wearing ten layers of clothing at least. Like, one thing is wearing your uniform at school, but to wear shirts and neat sweaters in the evening is just sad," Alfred said and started eating his hamburger.

"Ireland is a cold country, and I like what I am wearing, so please lay off," Arthur snapped, and resumed his reading from breakfast.

"Shakespeare?" Alfred asked as he noticed the cover of the book Arthur was holding up in front his face with his left hand, while he drank his tea with the right. "Yes. Hamlet," Arthur answered. Still unsure of the American. Particularly after he had yelled at him again that morning. Why couldn't he keep his composure around him?

"You read that stuff for fun!?" Alfred gaped like a fish for a little while, then his expression changed entirely.

"I was actually really excited when we were doing Shakespeare the first time around. You know? He sounded so awesome. _Shake Spear_. Like some sort of violent caveman. Then I found out he was just like this writer dude who wrote love poetry and stupid romances, like Romeo and Juliet, and then I stopped paying attention," Alfred chatted as he made himself another milkshake.

"Actually," Arthur said, placing the book on the table. "Romeo and Juliet may have a story of forbidden love in the centre, but most of the plot contains sword fighting, violent deaths, and suicides. Romeo kills two guys, and everything," he mused.

Alfred sat down with his cup at the other side of the table. "Really? Like, it isn't just silly romance?" The American seemed genuinely intrigued.

"It is actually very un-romantic in my opinion. Romeo and Juliet are about 13 years old, and Romeo just suddenly get over his ex when he sees Juliet and falls in love again. I suppose the Forbidden Love aspect makes her more intriguing," he shrugged.

"But my favourite play is Hamlet. Nearly the entire cast ends up stabbing each other or dying from poisoning, the girl that is in love with Prince Hamlet becomes crazy and jumps into a river. Hamlet pretends to be crazy himself, or is, we don't even know, because his father was killed by his uncle who then marries his mother, and..." Arthur looked up.

Alfred had a look of pure fascination on his face at the Brit's rant. "Wowch, you really know how to make reading really interesting, you know?" he said.

"Well... it is actually a play. And it's not me it's Shakespeare's genius..." Arthur sort of stuttered. He was becoming a bit flustered under the intense stare of the American. "Don't be so modest, England. I have seen you writing shit in breaks and stuff. I am sure you write awesome plays yourself!" Alfred then commented.

Arthur froze completely. As if his blood refused to keep moving around and he would just die of the lack of circulation. How the bloody hell had Alfred noticed he was writing things other than homework?

"How did..?" he began.

"Well, I have seen you sitting in a tree looking all.. nerdy-literature-guy like, while I was having my afternoon jogs and stuff. I always sort of found it cute. I could never sit still like that for long. Also, I was wondering how a short guy like you could reach the branches," Alfred mocked.

"oh piss off," Arthur murmured, but in good humour.

* * *

Alfred couldn't see any scratches on England's wrists as he had stretched for the tea. That was good. But, he couldn't be sure. He knew he should say something to adults and all, but shouldn't the Brit get to decide when he wanted to talk?

Alfred pledged to pay attention to Arthur, and probably sneak-read in his diary again.

They had been sitting a while in silence, Alfred playing a game on his cell and Arthur reading. Then the Brit suddenly looked up.

"Alfred, I feel bad, I mean... I never really asked you if you miss home. You are quite far away from America after all," Arthur said, seeming to be treading cautiously.

"I suppose yeah. Like, I am sure you notice to how it can be really hard with all the different cultures and stuff? I think it's more that than missing home. Remembering how to deal with different people. Like you for instance. I sometimes forget you do stuff differently, even though I know it! It's hard sometimes," Alfred sighed.

Arthur could not but agree full-hearted.

"I miss the fellowship though. I watch the Super Bowl over here but it doesn't feel the same. Or like, when you call it a baseball match instead of game. It just feels wrong. And Europe sure do love their soccer!"

"Football. But yes. I know what you mean. It's weird being over here when stuff happens back in England. Like I am part of it but excluded at the same time," Arthur sighed.

"I miss American food portions a lot!" Alfred laughed, "you guys are really weird like that!"

The Brit just smiled. "At least you speak the same language. It must be harder for Kiku, coming all the way from Japan and having to speak in English all the time," Arthur then added.

"True that bro," the American said and went to grab some muffins before inviting Arthur to join him in watching an action movie. To his surprised the other said yes. And he had a lot of fun showing moves to the Brit and tell him all about the actors and Hollywood and everything!

Later that evening the Englishman helped the American make a bed out of the sofa. Earning a lot of "Aha!"s and "ooooh!"s and "I see!"s from the American. "It's not exactly brain surgery Alfred. I am sure you could've done this yourself last night," Arthur frowned.

"Yeah, maybe. But dude, I was really tired and couldn't be bothered," Alfred said, earning a deeper frown from the other, and then a dramatic but mocking eye roll. "Good night Alfred," Arthur said and got a "good night England!" in return.

They both went to bed feeling a bit more comfortable about their new sleeping arrangements.

* * *

_The Chapter of nice chatting and bonding! Also tea. That keeps happening with me. _


	5. Chapter 5

_Sorry about the wait people. Life is a thing. More importantly, Doctor Who is a thing! I've rewatched a lot of my favourite Classic Who. I just love Five, also Four of course. But we all just love Tom Baker by default. But some days I have to admit Peter Davison might just be my Doctor. Then I remember Tennant and I get conflicted. _

_Don't own Hetalia, nor any nation state on the planet. _

* * *

**Chapter 5**

A week had passed and the two of them functioned better around each other. Alfred respected Arthur's routines, which were usually on the dot every day. No wonder Doctor Who, the show about a Time Lord, was British, he mused for himself. Though, it meant Alfred knew when he would have his shower in the morning, and when he could use the toaster if he needed to toast something.

Sometimes they talked, but a lot of the time they weren't home anyway. Arthur had council meetings, or he would go somewhere to write or do homework. Mostly libraries and cafés. Alfred had his sports.

He had helped Matthew improve a lot in baseball, though he was still a bit weak. Kiku was doing alright, though he often apologised really formally with a bow and everything when he couldn't catch a ball. But Alfred needed at least 9 people to have a proper team! They were eight, as there were some other Americans and South Americans from other classes that had joined. Baseball was big in Venezuela apparently.

Alfred had thought of getting Arthur to join, but the Brit didn't seem interested. Well, honestly he had been quite rude about American sports in general. He had called football weird, misunderstood rugby, and apparently baseball was cricket for the braindead, or something. Alfred just thought British sports were crazy. He had never understood cricket, and sports usually came instinctively to him.

Arthur had seemed to be in a good mood lately though. It seemed to give him joy correcting Alfred's English and complaining about the weather. This made absolutely no sense to the American, but as long as it made the Brit happy that was the important bit.

The problem is, Alfred figured, that the Brit could be hard to read. Sure, sometimes he was an open book. When he was awkward, embarrassed, or angry it was nearly too easy to tell, but when he was just normal there was no way of knowing what went on in his head.

Yesterday they had hardly seen each other. Arthur had wished him a "good afternoon" at one point and that was it. Alfred decided to take another peek in the diary when he could. But was he a hero for doing this, or was he really a coward for not confronting Arthur directly?

* * *

_Diary Entry 23th January_

_Everything was so much easier when I was younger. I didn't care about how I acted or how I appeared to others. I wanted to have fun and I stood up for myself. Sure, sometimes that ended in me punching someone but it was so much easier._

_These days I can't even make Alfred stop calling me England, or get really angry for him moving my tea. Fun little prank that was... OK fine, I do still tell people off or let them know I am pissed at them I am sure, but even when I dare to do it it comes out wrong. Probably because I've kept quiet for so long I just end up shouting or hurting. I hurt people in my past, what if I do it again? Can I live with that?_

_Sometimes I just want to build a cave and live in it. A small sanctuary. Made out of books and pillows and an endless access to tea. I think that would be nice._

Alfred re-read it, then put the book back where he had found it in its usual spot. January 23rd? That was yesterday. It was Saturday morning now.

Arthur had heated something he called "crumpets" in the toaster that he ate with butter on it, before he had left and Alfred had dared risk another peak in the diary. The last time he had looked for it the Brit had obviously taken it with him, but today it was safely here for him to read.

Arthur always did seem a bit too self-aware. Maybe trying to be perfect or something? Like, if he calmed down he would be much closer to that, Alfred thought. But perfect in his opinion would be someone cool and comfortable with himself. He guessed Arthur's definition was being a straight A student or something.

Alfred wanted to poke a hole in Arthur's bobble so badly! He knew there would be a lot of stuff underneath the mask the Brit had created for himself. Hell, he was already aware of the negative feelings. But, like wouldn't Arthur just need to risk friendship and intimacy!?

The cave however gave Alfred an idea. And it was a really good one!

* * *

Arthur came home after a while. He had ventured out into Dublin to find a café where he could quietly write a bit on one of his plays for a while. The tea and the comfortable noise level in the place had made him forget all of space and time, even the ever-present pain in his chest, but it was getting late and he had to get back home.

As the Englishman opened the door to his new flat a peculiar sight met him. It was… an epic blanket fort. That was the only way to describe it. It covered most of the living room part of the flat and seemed to be stuffed with pillows and blankets. The telly must be somewhere under there too. He noticed some of the walls were reinforced with stacks of his books.

"Alfred…?" the Brit asked wearily as he hung his coat by the door.

"Hey, you're here!" the American shouted in delight. "Man I was getting worried you wouldn't come back in time! I have ordered pizza and I want to watch James Bond with you. It's like action but British so I figured you might like it!"

The other seemed incredibly excited. Arthur couldn't help but smile a bit. "Yes, I do like James Bond, I'll just make some tea," he muttered and moved to put the kettle on.

"No need! I made a whole thermos for you! I have observed you and have learnt how you do it!" Alfred proud exclaimed.

The shorter blonde nearly stared in disbelief. Nobody had ever bothered to make him tea before. Nevermind that it was probably going to be wrong and horrible. This was a very surprising turn of events.

"I… thanks, Alfred," he said but that was all he had time for before the taller boy grabbed him and nearly pushed him inside the blanket fort. It even had fairy lights!

"Good isn't it!? I spent the whole day making it really epic," Alfred said and rolled around on the duvet and blankets covering the floor.

"You spent the whole day doing this?" Arthur was nearly gobsmacked, "why exactly?"

Alfred stopped goofing around. "Because I thought it would be fun! Also, I wanted to watch a film with you and have fun and be friends and stuff. That's what friends do right?" he said now staring at Arthur.

The Brit really just wanted to dig a hole in the ground. The eyes were staring so intently at him. Such expectations. He wasn't used to people looking at him for more than a few seconds, and even then mostly to stare at his eyebrows.

Alfred, however, kept staring at him. Maybe he couldn't get over how funny his hair looked?

"I suppose," he sort of stottered and looked away from the American. He actually wanted to say 'I wouldn't know,' but that would be exposing himself too much to the other. Had he ever had a real proper friend? He wasn't sure. If anything he had bribed other kids to like him when he was younger. Sometimes intimidated them.

Alfred looked like he thought the Brit should be saying more but then there was a knock on the door. "Pizza! Hurray!" he shouted and ran out to greet the pizza guy.

Arthur took a deep breath to steady himself. He had made a few blanket forts when he was a child, but his brothers would usually tear them down or they would be ruined in a fight with them. This was different. This was sharing a blanket fort with someone.

Also, Arthur had to admit it was a good one. Once you include fairy lights and a television it has a certain something. Maybe he should just live here from now on? Hang on. Live here? Didn't he write about that in his diary last night? About living in a cave and all. And today Alfred builds him a cave. Pure coincidence?

He didn't have more time to think anything of it, however, as Alfred returned shortly. "I love pizza!" he said, he tended to say that. Arthur thought maybe he was possesed. Pizza is nice, but goodness it's just food. It really doesn't matter all that much.

After a short discussion they settled upon watching Thunderball, as it had NATO atomic bombs gone missing, Sean Connery, and Miami in it. They merrily ate the pizza and discussed the movie as it progressed in front of them.

Arthur found, to his surprise that the tea Alfred had made was really nice. He didn't want to tell him so, but he drank it happily. They ended up watching more films, this time Alfred had American movies to introduce him to. As they tried to chose, Alfred kept saying "You haven't seen this!?" in pure astonishment, as Arthur shook his head at nearly every one.

So they ended up watching shows, and Alfred was explaining why a scene was cool, or how the camera use or music reinforced this or that emotion with the audience, to make us aware of what the characters on the screen couldn't know. Arthur was surprised at how much Alfred knew about filmmaking. To be honest, up until now he'd sort of assumed the American only liked watching movies for the entertainment of it.

After a while Arthur was beginning to feel really tired, sinking further and further into the pillows. Maybe he should just stay here? Safely tucked away under blankets, away from the pressures of the world. His eyes closed for a moment and he nodded awake. After this happened a few times he finally fell asleep, sliding to over and rested on Alfred's shoulder.

The American looked down on his English friend and decided that this had been his best idea ever! He was going to show he really wanted to be Arthur's friend, and he was going to make the negative feelings go away! However many blanket forts that required.

* * *

_Sorry for the wait. University is a thing and all. My book has also preoccupied me, I have to admit. Most importantly though, Happy 50th to Doctor Who! I'm looking forward to celebrating 100!_

_I hope you get that the references I make to Arthur's childhood is about English history and colonial legacy xD I find it amusing to try to make it into the story of an individual human._

_Is Alfred being too sweet? I think I keep making him too sweet. Though, what could possibly be cooler than blanket forts!? _


End file.
